


Babel

by LaMaldita



Series: The Grief Arcana [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bottom Reaper, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Overwatch, Sad old men, Soldier Enhancement Program, Tarot, young jack morrison, young reyes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 11:27:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7616308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaMaldita/pseuds/LaMaldita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They couldn't pinpoint when the foundations starting giving out beneath them. There was just one day when it all came tumbling down. </p><p>A collection of vignettes from Reyes and Morrison's relationship leading up to the explosion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Babel

_**The Tower** _

_This card follows immediately after The Devil in all Tarots that contain it, and is associated with sudden, disruptive, and potentially destructive change. It is also associated with outbursts of anger, sudden revelations of things formerly hidden, seeing the truth in a flash._

\--------

Gunfire rattles in his skull like marbles. Leave it to Los Muertos to come swaggering in and interrupt what was supposed to be an easy in-and-out supply run--idiots had spotted him from an awning and raised the alarm. Maybe he was the idiot this time. Oh well. Stealth was never his strong suit.

Jack dives around a corner, knocking over a crate of vegetables. Heads of lettuce come apart like ticker tape. Fitting festivities for a tired old man. The bullet-pocked wall is warm from the day's sun; it grounds him as he reloads through the haze of a headache. His visor supplies a heat map, molten forms of gangsters running up and down back alleys, but there’s too much noise to focus. The pounding of his augmented heart is almost worse than the shoot-em-up shitshow happening around him.

He stills his breathing. Cutting through the near-constant staccato of machine guns, the deep drum of a shotgun--no, two. There’s only one person on this planet enough of a showboat to dual-wield shotguns. Jack scoops up his pulse rifle and runs towards the sound.

\------

Reaper is all hate and vengeance and it makes him sloppy. Which is why Jack now has him against a wall in an alley, a sidearm pointed at his mask and Jack’s forearm across his throat. Reaper’s talons pierce the leather of his jacket, hover just shy of breaking the skin beneath it.

“Pretty Jack,” he growls. Jack doesn’t need to see his face to hear the amusement in his voice. It is the third time they’ve done this dance. Three times too many.

He jams the gun into Reaper’s temple. “You’re in no position to be cute right now. The fuck are you doing here?"

“You mean you didn’t come all this way lookin’ for me? I’m wounded.”

“Shut up and answer the question.”

“Pick one, Jackie. Can’t do both.”

“Shut _up_ or I’ll shut you up.”

"Ooh, _te crees muy muy_ ," he taunts, his L.A. chicano drawl creeping through the sandpaper edge to his voice. “Gonna be your gun or your dick you stick in my mouth this time, old man?”

Jack uses the muzzle to lift the mask, flicking it to the pavement. Red eyes stare a challenge into Jack’s expressionless visor, tongue coming out to wet those full, scarred lips, and for a second Jack falters at how quick the old Reyes slips back, how memories of beautiful, defiant brown eyes and teasing half-smiles hover at the edge of his mind.

He shoves the visions aside. The thing in front of him--the thing that wears Reyes’ face--is something else entirely. Brutal, volatile, like a goddamn toxic waste leak--even the black vapour that occasionally hisses out between his lips looks poisonous. So Jack rips off his visor and kisses this abomination like he deserves.

Reaper gives a dark chuckle, a little weaker from the way Jack is pressing on his windpipe, and bites his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Jack grunts against the sharp teeth but doesn’t relent, bearing down into the kiss until he gets what he wants: a low, breathless sound from the man beneath him. Clawed gloves trace fidgety lines up and down his sides, pushing his shirt up, fingers twitching like he can’t decide whether he wants to stroke Jack's skin or shred it like wrapping paper.

He opts for the former when Jack’s mouth finds his neck, sucking marks over where his pulse used to thrum like a caged moth when he did the same long ago.

Jack pulls back, eyes flicking over Reaper’s face. The features are there--high cheekbones, too-heavy eyebrows, broad nose, wide and sensual mouth--as are the requisite lines of age, but somehow it’s all profane, now. A third of it is lost in roiling blackness. What he can see has a jittery quality to it, as if barely holding a solid shape, making the scars that crisscross it writhe like snakes. That face was once so beautiful. They were both beautiful. But the explosion at HQ had stolen so much more than that from them.

“I fucking hate you.”

“Prove it, _papi_ ,” he hisses.

Jack’s neck prickles. Reyes had always known how to get a rise out of him, in more ways than one. He hates the fact that the other man’s shitty attitude only makes him want him more.

“Yeah, I know you like that one. Good times, eh Morrison? Can still make you a fucking wreck just by calling you names—remember this?” He grinds his thick thigh against Jack’s half-hard cock to punctuate his point. “Remember how bad I’d make you want it, papi?”

Jack shoves him harder against the wall, revelling in how Reyes--no--Reaper’s eyes flutter as the motion starves him of oxygen. He feels the other man’s cock twitch and can’t help but smirk a little.

“Never could keep your mouth shut.”

“Like you wanted me to.”

Their next kiss is all violence; Jack didn’t know if they could ever be anything other than that. If they could ever regain gentleness. Reaper fists a hand in his short hair and they chase each other’s breath--still undecided as to whether they’re kissing or fighting. When they break apart Jack exhales a wisp of smoke. He tugs one-handed at the heavy belts slung around Reaper’s wide hips and laughs against his mouth when a clawed hand slides down to help loosen them.

“Sweet as pie when you’re dying for a fuck.”

There was a time when saying those words would have made his ears go red and Reyes would have laughed and called him a choirboy. For now, thankfully, he keeps his smart mouth shut save for a sharp gasp when Jack grasps his length. His skin is burning. Jack throws himself onto the pyre.

He spins Reaper around and shoves him face-first into the wall, fumbling down his own zipper. Reaper watches him over his shoulder and the way his eyes light when Jack spits in his hand almost makes him smile. He lets his dick slide along the cleft of his ass, running a hand down Reaper’s spine, the expanse of his back. More scars there than before, but that ass is just as he remembered, round and muscular and perfect. People said (whispered) that they’d even brave Reyes’s wrath just to get their hands on it. They never did, of course. No one but Jack would brush it ‘accidentally’ during briefing, or wind up his towel and whip at it in the showers just to hear that cranky barked “dude!”, or stare Reyes down and dig his short nails into it like it was the last thing grounding him to the earthly plane.

Reaper reaches back and rakes his talons over Jack’s bare skin, leaving thin threads of red in his wake. He is vicious, but Jack holds his resolve—even if he can’t control himself around his old lover, getting old has taught him some patience.

“Fuck’s sake, Morrison.”

The shaky desperation in his voice makes Jack even harder. He says nothing, but gives Reaper’s generous ass a hard slap, relishing in the growl it draws out. He keeps nudging steadily against his entrance, expression cool as the other man glares and gnashes and spits like oil in a pan against his teasing. Reaper finally realizes what he wants and lets his eyes go half-mast, the red glowing unnaturally through thick lashes.

“Please, papi,” he says, practically kissing the words, “Show me how much you hate me.”

They loved each other once.

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who forgot how HARD writing porn is but did it anyway. 
> 
> Meant this to be a bunch of porny drabbles but then I accidentally roughed out a multi-chap fic so strap in my dudes. ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ We're starting here and jumping back in time.
> 
> Spanish in this chapter:  
> -Te crees muy muy: You think you're a big man/a badass


End file.
